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<title>we're not bruised they're just party tattoos by pinkgrapefruit</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23597887">we're not bruised they're just party tattoos</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkgrapefruit/pseuds/pinkgrapefruit'>pinkgrapefruit</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>RuPaul's Drag Race RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Based on a dodie Song, F/F, Lesbiansss, Rewrite, set in a diner at 3am</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 08:07:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>969</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23597887</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkgrapefruit/pseuds/pinkgrapefruit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>She sticks to the red leather seats as she tries to slide in - orders a strawberry milkshake and a cheese panini because she likes the pink but she won’t eat ham. She’s got an aesthetic going on - and a moral compass staunchly against eating meat.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Trixie Mattel/Katya Zamolodchikova</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>we're not bruised they're just party tattoos</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/11321802">we're not bruised they're just party tattoos</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkgrapefruit/pseuds/pinkgrapefruit">pinkgrapefruit</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i rewrote a drabble of mine from June 2017 because i got bored. fingers crossed it's an improvement. i hope you enjoy it &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>my mummy said to always wear a coat but it’s warm and it's heavy and we’re trying to float                              </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>don’t forget, she’ll be right when it’s 3 am, so shiver, but shiver with a friend</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’s the icy kind of cold; the one that breaks you down to your core even when your core is still glowing with the warm fuzz of bad choices and tequila shots. Kim and Shea ran off half an hour ago (or was it three) - off to some guys house where they’ll take unnamed pills and vomit into his shoes and leave ashamed at seven when the birds chirp the songs of innocence. Trixie chirps the songs of experience as she rubs her pale arms outside the club. She’d forgone a jacket - only stood in her pink chiffon that can barely be considered pink anymore. It’s okay though - it was cheap when she bought it off amazon and she’d be able to buy one again without hassle. She won’t. She wants to believe she’s matured past amazon babydolls and dollar store press on nails. She hasn’t.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She looks into the safe glow of the diner across the street and decides to chance the three a.m. crowd of drunks and businessmen if it means she can sit in the warmth for another hour or so. The door makes a pleasant clinking sound as it brushes an old bell so rusted it’s fused together. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She sticks to the red leather seats as she tries to slide in - orders a strawberry milkshake and a cheese panini because she likes the pink but she won’t eat ham. She’s got an aesthetic going on - and a moral compass staunchly against eating meat. The tables are white and unclean and she lays down a napkin or two because she might be drunk but she’s reasonable about the health of her digestive tract. She doesn’t notice the stranger slide in opposite her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The stranger sits there in silence - gives her time to look over the blonde hair that looks like it has never seen a comb and the smudged black eyeliner that looks like it was at one point a fine art but has now leaned more into a dead raccoon with insomnia. She doesn’t say that - it would be uncouth. The woman puts her foot up on the booth and reties the laces of her black combat boots - the red fishnets covering her legs a stark contrast to the pale skin underneath.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She puts her elbows on the table (Trixie does not insult her table manners) and her chin on her hands. “So,” she lingers, eyes flitting over Trixie until she settles on the speck of green in her brown eyes. “Are you running too?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>and we’re not bruised they’re just party tattoos and their colourfulness is just colourful regret                               </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>black lipstick will never be a sin, we’ll regret it when we’re older with wrinkled up skin</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Trixie wants to argue that she’s not - that she’s just here for a good time and a panini before she heads home to her one bed flat with its three occupants and very lively atmosphere but she finds herself stuck on the piercing nature of the woman’s eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A coffee gets delivered to the table and the woman wordlessly thanks the waitress, taking each sip with a sigh. Her black lipstick moves further across her face with every sip of the equally black liquid but she doesn’t seem to mind as long as it doesn't mark the cup. She takes the time to wipe it every few seconds - seemingly well versed on the issues of black lipstick. If Trixie still felt imbued with the power of tequila she would ask about it but for now, it seems like a secret that doesn’t need sharing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Trixie most certainly doesn’t realise that half of what she digests is pink lipstick. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Katya,” the woman breaks the silence with, and Trixie looks up from her panini with a quizzical frown. “My name is Katya.” Trixie nods in acceptance of the fact. She sips the milkshake loudly through the straw just for the satisfaction of the sound. “I’m Trixie,” she counters, pushing her plate to the end of the table. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She is now warm, and satiated, and wants to run far away from all of this back to her bed but there is something about Katya that she finds electric and she cannot help but wonder if maybe - just maybe - this could be a massive, very enjoyable, mistake.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It almost certainly will be. She’s very excited.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>write a postcard to you at eighty-four tell em you’d never dreamed of living behind a door                 </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>life was fun, full of hope, full of smiles, bet you wish you were here but I’ll see you in a while</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Katya pushes her warm exposed thighs against the cool metal of the Chevy and Trixie lets out a moan that reverberates in her chest. She smells like chair spray and smoke and Trixie is damn sure her collarbone is covered in grey marks and she cannot find it within her to care. She digs her teeth into Katya’s lip and feels the older woman lean into her, hands holding her hips like they were made for them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Trixie’s fingers try to worm their way into Katya’s hair and would probably succeed if she could get it through the rat's nest so she settles for cupping her jaw instead - thumbs sweeping the fine lines of her face. Katya bunches the pink babydoll between her fingers, curses at her for wearing lingerie to a diner and Trixie laughs because this is a ridiculous scenario for four in the morning.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They get honked at by a driver and Katya throws them a middle finger.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Trixie can still hear the diner music whirring through her head.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>let me know what you think &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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